


There's Good News, And Bad News....

by twistedmiracle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, auror partners sometimes suck, harry needs a new job, work sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 04:24:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7153388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedmiracle/pseuds/twistedmiracle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, work sucks. Sometimes, Auror partners really suck. Rita Skeeter always sucks. Harry needs a new job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of the Dracomalfoy LJ Birthday Fest. I was in such a hurry to get it in under the deadline that I didn't get a beta. I hope it isn't too screwy!

Chapter 1

Harry tugged impatiently at his high, tight collar. While a sudden summons by Head Auror Robards or Minister Shacklebolt wasn’t usually cause for alarm, it did not usually specify that he wear his formal uniform and “be extremely prompt.” This particular summons had also arrived the day after what Harry had begun to think of as “The FuckUp.”

Taking a deep breath, Harry worked to smooth out his facial expression, to find his “uniform face,” as his first Auror partner had called it. Harry had spent his first seventeen months on the force partnered with a woman on the verge of retirement: Varlyon Brinskee. She had been one of the best things that had ever happened to him since Hagrid had shown up with a cake and a fairy tale. 

Brinskee was professional and motherly, no-nonsense and often dryly hilarious. She was smart, strong and slow. (Though she preferred to be called judicious.) Because of Brinskee, Harry’s introduction to the real work of being an Auror had been both successful and safe. Brinskee had been perfectly willing to put Harry into a full body bind if necessary. Harry had quickly learned to be proud of the missions when she’d seen no need to do so.

Ron, too, had been paired with a practiced, proficient Auror. All the new recruits had. It was the way the Auror department did things. Ron’s partner, Judith Smiker, was due to retire in twenty-seven months. Harry admired Smiker tremendously, though perhaps not as much as Hermione did. Ron, too, had required an occasional restraining hand. Smiker was the reason Harry hadn’t complained about getting first John Plyther and then Sam Narkfosh for his replacement partners after Brinskee had retired. Harry knew Ron and Hermione wouldn’t want anyone else for Ron’s right hand. Much as Harry would have loved to partner with Ron after he’d learned the ropes from Brinskee, Harry didn’t want Judith Smiker to leave Ron’s side either.

But Brinskee had retired three months previous, and it was not long after her huge retirement party that Harry’s Auror career had started to go to hell in a handsomely decorated hand basket.

The Minister’s office door finally began to open. “Come in, Harry dear,” Arthur said from inside, holding the heavy oaken door for him. 

“Arthur?” Harry said, his uniform face quickly lost. Harry couldn’t look unconcerned any more, but he could still follow orders, so he entered the office and sat in the chair they pointed him toward. Arthur Weasley, Gawain Robards and Kingsley Shacklebolt all stared solemnly back at him. As did a fourth uniformed official, though Harry did not recognize her. No one stood to shake his hand.

“I assume you know why we have called you in today,” Robards said, unsmiling and sounding much too loud. Harry nodded, frowning. Flashbacks of “The FuckUp” filled his mind for a few unpleasant moments. Knockturn Alley, Sam Narkfosh ahead of him, leading the way. The suspect’s outstretched wand, the Daily Prophet’s cameras, the terrible flashing of both of them at the same moment. Then, the agonized cries from the two innocent prostitutes Skeeter had accidentally uncovered and the suspect had therefore unintentionally popped.

At least another Auror had managed to catch the arsehole while Harry had tried not to drop Skeeter and her acid quill to the pavement.

Harry looked up from his lap. His face was burning, but he nodded once, hoping they wouldn’t make him speak. He stared intently at the wall behind Robards’ right ear.

“We don’t blame you, Harry,” Shacklebolt began. “But that doesn’t mean we can continue on like this.”

“It’s been getting increasingly bad since Auror Brinskee retired, Harry,” Arthur interjected mildly. 

“I know,” Harry sighed. Arthur spoke the undeniable truth. First one, then a second Auror partner turned out to be a fame-seeking hustler. Both had been more concerned with what being Harry’s partner could do for his wallet than he had cared about either the law, or justice. 

Harry had been sold out to the Prophet three times now, and each instance was worse than the last. This time, one innocent bystander had been permanently maimed, and a second one would require months to fully recover. Even worse, both of those women had dependents to feed. 

Skeeter and the Daily Prophet, unsurprisingly, showed a complete unwillingness to turn a blind eye to these illegal tips from Harry’s unscrupulous “partners.” Innocents and justice be damned. The Prophet was perfectly content to destroy Harry’s career, as long as they caught the last few exploding pieces of it on film for their yellow front page.

Harry blamed Skeeter.

“Truly, it’s we who are to blame,” Robards said. 

Harry looked into his face at this, and saw guilt there. He sat up, listening.

“I don’t know what is wrong with our hiring that we would have let men as corrupt and dishonorable as both Plyther and Narkfosh through. But until we are capable of better screening practices....” Robards sighed.

“That’s where I come in,” said the woman Harry didn’t know. Startled, he turned to face her. Somehow, though he had been aware of her when he’d entered the room, he had since forgotten that she was there. He frowned at himself. That wasn’t like him at all. Still, he wanted to hear what she she had to say. He nodded once, hoping she had a solution he wanted to hear.

“I am Head Unspeakable Jones,” she said. “And I want to hire you.”


	2. 2

Chapter 2

Unspeakables did things differently. Before they would even tell him what any of his job duties might entail, they insisted that he submit to a grueling “interview” process. At least, they called it an interview, but it was actually a deep Legilimency scan, and -- disturbingly -- he wouldn’t remember it when it was over. 

Normally, they tried to reassure him, he would have had to take multiple grueling physical and academic tests before they reached this stage, but poached Aurors were considered to have previously passed those tests, so Harry was being skipped ahead. “At least,” he thought, “I’m getting special treatment because I’m an Auror, not because I’m Harry Potter.”

* * * *

“Head Unspeakable Jones,” Harry said, handing her a cup of tea. “I appreciate you coming over to discuss this with me in a less formal setting.” Harry sighed as he looked across his kitchen table from Jones, who wore the most forgettable, nondescript robes he’d ever seen. Harry wasn’t even sure if they were blue, grey, or green. He supposed it was all part of the “Unspeakable Mystique.”

Head Unspeakable Jones, whose first name Harry still did not know, sipped her tea politely and watched Harry get up to fetch a box of biscuits, put them on a plate, place them on the table between their chairs, and finally sit down again a second time. Unable to put it off further, he tried not to fidget on the hard wooden kitchen chair while he stitched together a coherent explanation for his discomfort.

“I’m flattered by your job offer,” he finally said, looking down at his milky brown tea. “But I don’t understand it.” He waited, but she didn’t say anything, so he strove to continue. 

“I don’t know what you would have me doing, first of all, so I have no idea if I would enjoy the work, you know?” She nodded once, which helped him continue. “Then, there is this Legilimency thing. You expect me to give you blanket permission to just… rummage around in my head. Looking for… whatever. Notwithstanding the fact that I am sure no one is excited to give up all their privacy like that, I have some secrets from the war that I don’t want to let go of, you know? Stuff about the Elder Wand, for example.” Harry grimaced, picked up a chocolate biscuit and stuffed it in his mouth. He was tired of doing all the talking.

“There were seven Horcruxes,” Head Unspeakable Jones said calmly. “One of them was in your forehead. In addition to an unpleasant connection to Voldemort, it granted you the ability to speak Parseltongue, which you retain, even though the Horcrux there, like all the others, was indisputably destroyed. This is due to the magical functions of Osmosis and Transference, which we can explain later, after you are hired. Draco Malfoy accidentally mastered the Elder Wand, then you accidentally mastered it by stealing his. The Elder Wand itself is hidden in Dumbledore’s tomb, on the Hogwarts grounds. You cast several Unforgivable curses before and during the war, all of which you have confessed to and been quietly, legally forgiven for. You, along with Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, stole a horcrux and a dragon from Gringotts. You were levied a substantial fine, but Granger and Weasley were both let off the hook as though you were solely responsible. The goblins again allow you complete access to your vaults, but they don’t like you. Have I forgotten anything important?” She sipped her tea again, then chose a lemon biscuit.

“Er,” Harry sat back, slightly overwhelmed. “Not that I can think of off the top of my head. It was mostly the location of the Elder Wand I didn’t want to share. I should like to know how you know that.”

“I can explain after you’re officially hired, Mr. Potter.” She sipped her tea and took a small bite of her lemon biscuit.

“Since you clearly know all that stuff,” Harry said, grimacing slightly, “what would you be looking for in my head? It seems like you have it all now.”

Jones looked at him steadily, and he tried not to blink or squirm under her calm eyes. Finally, she put her tea down on the table and steepled her large hands. “We look for weaknesses that others might exploit,” she said, and Harry nodded once. That made sense, and he appreciated logic a great deal. Sometimes it seemed the wizarding world was almost incapable of it.

“Obviously a person with a family is vulnerable. A person who loves so much as a dog, or the Queen, or even a painting can be held hostage, could have that emotion exploited. But we Unspeakables still like to try to get the ‘low-hanging fruit,’ as it were. Besides, we’ve found it to be a fantastic recruiting tool.” She smiled a small, secretive smile, that Harry didn’t feel comfortable asking her to explain.

“As for the work, it is so variable that I can’t tell you exactly what you would be doing. Only that if you didn’t enjoy it, we would work with you to find something valuable to the Department that you prefer to do.” Head Unspeakable Jones gave Harry a small, slow smile, and Harry was reminded deeply of Varlyon, and her calm, judicious efficiency.

“You remind me of Auror Brinskee,” Harry said, impulsively. 

“That,” Jones said solemnly, “is a true compliment.”

Harry couldn’t help but grin.


	3. 3

Chapter 3

“It sounds a little crazy, honestly,” Hermione said, leaning forward over the coffee table. “You have no idea what you would be doing? They know all your secrets now, but want the right to look for even more?”

“It really does!” Harry said, burying his hands in his hair. “But I might just be game to do it anyway.”

“If Kingsley, Robards and _Dad_ all trust her and her department,” Ron said slowly, “I’m inclined that way, too.”

“I’ll go mad without full time work,” Harry said, frowning.

“You really can’t remain an Auror, Harry?” Hermione said. She bit her lip and pulled at the label on her butterbeer.

Harry hesitated. “They haven’t outright fired me, but… it was pretty clear that I can’t stay.”

“After all that training, cor.” Ron shook his head. “Well, it isn’t like I’ll miss seeing you all the time, eh?”

Ron and Harry had long since gotten over their disappointment about not being Auror partners. They had even learned to be like colleagues at work, instead of best friends. It helped that they didn’t often see one another there, and never seemed to collaborate. 

“True,” Harry said. He sighed. “Things are really different from what we expected.”

“Being an Unspeakable though,” Ron said, looking down at the table. “Would you even be able to talk about work with us at all?”

“I doubt it?” Harry took a swig of his own butterbeer and lay back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling so he wouldn’t have to look at his friend’s concerned faces any more. “We really aren’t supposed to talk about Auror cases outside of the Department either, after all. So you wouldn’t have much to say to me about your job anymore, yourself.”

“Well,” Hermione said briskly, putting her butterbeer down and picking up a thick slice of cucumber, “it isn’t as though we all sit around gossiping about work all the time now, is it?” She dragged the cucumber slice through the hummus, then bit into it. After a moment, she spoke again. 

“Can you talk to some Unspeakables? Ask them about what it’s like at home, with friends? If they like the work? How adaptable it is?”

“That’s a good idea, Hermione,” Harry said, feeling a bit better. “I should ask Jones if I can do that.”

* * * *

Head Unspeakable Jones thought Hermione’s idea was excellent, and two days later Harry was in a warded conference room at the Ministry, trying to ask questions that wouldn’t get him stonewalled. It turned out that Unspeakables (or at least the four Jones had found to talk to Harry) felt their jobs really were both intellectually challenging and appropriately flexible. All four of them also said they still had plenty to talk about with the other people in their lives.

One of the Unspeakables, Jezipher, a pretty young woman only a few years older than Harry, was vivacious, enthusiastic, and funny. She had green hair and reminded him vividly of Tonks. Marco was also only a few years older than Harry, and he clearly had a raging hardon for Jezipher, who seemed to like him fairly well herself. They called each other “Jezipher” and “Marco” constantly, flirtatiously, and to the amusement of the rest of the room. But Harry didn’t mind, because it meant he could remember their names.

Two of the Unspeakables were older women. More staid, but both intelligent and persuasive. They had husbands and children and what sounded like full, rewarding lives outside of their strangely secretive professions. The grey-haired one had been an Unspeakable for decades. No one in her quilting group, she confessed with amusement, had the slightest idea what she did for a living. The salt-and-pepper one had been recruited ten years before from a large Potions firm where she’d been climbing what she called “the corporate ladder.” Harry couldn’t remember what they’d said their names were, and he very much hoped they hadn’t yet noticed.

The fifth Unspeakable was Draco Malfoy. Even though he had arrived quite late, Harry had no difficulty remembering Malfoy’s name. Malfoy had a firm handshake, a professional yet warm demeanor, and a bright, sharp smile with which he ably eviscerated Harry’s attention span. When he spoke, Harry mostly heard the blood pounding in his own veins. He nodded anyway, as though the world made sense.

The next morning, Harry sat down across from Jones and another Unspeakable, nervously awaiting his Legilimency interview.

* * * *

“Because of the nature of their assignments, some of our Unspeakables are vulnerable to blackmail, bribes. So we use this interview to discern what their weak points are. Then, as much as possible, we eliminate their weaknesses.”

“You’re going to have to explain that a lot more clearly,” Harry said, his eyes first widening, then narrowing as he considered what she might mean. 

Jones steepled her hands and looked into Harry’s eyes. “You know how Dumbledore got you and the other TriWizard Champions into the lake by kidnapping people you cared about?”

Harry didn’t usually like to allow people to badmouth Dumbledore like that. But this woman was very nearly his boss, and she had a point. Instead of contradicting her, he nodded warily.

“What if the vulnerable people in your life, the ones you would jump off a cliff for, or -- more to the point -- betray the Ministry to save, had special protections? Portkeys, warding, even unobtrusive bodyguards for short periods.” Jones sat back in her chair and considered him briefly, as he thought about her words. When he said nothing, she eventually continued. “I assume, as a Muggle-raised half-blood, you have heard of MI6, James Bond, intrigue, spying, all that?”

Eyes widening again, Harry nodded.

“A small percentage of Unspeakables are actually what a Muggle would call ‘spies’, Mr. Potter. As a former Auror, that is the department we are most interested in placing you within. As such, we need to discern and eliminate as many of your vulnerable points as we can. Some we shall simply eliminate. Your dwelling might need better wards, for example. Some we cannot eliminate completely, but we can protect. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, for example, could be offered the option of an internal portkey, one they can activate simply by needing it, that will take them to safety even if they are taken unawares, even knocked unconscious.”

Slightly stunned, Harry nodded at Jones, hoping she would continue. Aurors had been known to be vulnerable to sideways attacks like this on rare occasion as well, usually only when dealing with organizations that fancied themselves about to take over the world, but the Auror Department had no such protections for the vulnerable people that Aurors loved. They should, he thought.

“There is another category of vulnerability,” Jones said. “Unspeakables are paid very well, so as to minimize the likelihood of their being compromised with a monetary bribe.” Jones wrote a number on a piece of paper and pushed it across the table. Harry’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. That was damn near three times his current annual salary. 

“Per year?” he said, shocked, his voice breaking on the second syllable.

“Per year,” she agreed without blinking at his shock. “With cost of living raises guaranteed at one and three quarters percent per annum. A Christmas bonus guaranteed as well. And merit raises are quite common also, whenever we see a reason for such a reward.”

“How the hell does the department afford such salaries?” Harry said, looking down at the number again in some shock.

“We are a small department,” Jones said, apparently unwilling to elaborate any further. “Not all bribes are monetary, of course,” Jones continued, her voice serious. “So that is where this interview comes in. In addition to discerning exactly whom in your life requires extra magical protection, we need to know who… pushes your buttons.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest and flushing warmth across his cheeks.

“It will all make sense soon, Mr. Potter,” Jones said, grinning very briefly.

“That smile isn’t reassuring at all,” Harry muttered, but he lay on the chaise and drank the smoking grey potion she handed him. Then, the room went dim, and he knew no more.

* * * *


	4. Chapter 4

When Harry woke up he was on top of his own guest bed, in the same casual, comfortable clothing he’d been told to wear to his Legilimency “interview.” The throw from the back of the couch was pulled up to his waist, and he stretched and then sat up slowly, wondering how he would feel.

To his surprise, he felt excellent. He didn’t know what time it was, but his wand was on the bedside table, so he reached for it to cast and find out. He found a letter under his wand, and read it first.

## Dear Mr Potter, 

Welcome to the Department! You passed your Legilimency interview with flying colors. You are now a full fledged trainee member of the Unspeakables.

  


We discerned three people who required highly enhanced magical protections in order to reinforce your loyalty and increase your psychological comfort: Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Theodore Lupin. All three will be offered enhanced security, including the internal renewable portkey we discussed before your interview.

  


In addition, we determined a list of persons who require slightly enhanced security due to your new status, and they will all be contacted soon. They are: all remaining members of the Weasley family, Andromeda Black Tonks, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Rubeus Hagrid and Varlyon Brinskee.

  


Lastly, your greatest temptation lies drugged, restrained, and ready for you on your bed. Please get these needs out of your system and then report to work first thing tomorrow morning.

  


Sincerely, Head Unspeakable Jones

* * * *

Harry read through that last paragraph again, and then a third time. His heart was speeding up and his forehead felt damp. He wiped at it.

“ _Lastly, your greatest temptation lies drugged and ready on your bed._ ”

What. The. Hell… was he going to find on his bed? _Drugged and ready_ on his bed? His _bed_! In the next room! Harry realized he was biting his knuckles and took his fingers out of his mouth.

“ _Please get these needs out of your system and then report to work first thing tomorrow…._ ”

Harry realized he had been staring at the wall for a while. He grabbed up the blanket and breathed into it for a few moments, his breath evening out even as his heart rate slowed only slightly. 

The thing was, he was pretty sure what, or rather, who, lay _drugged and ready on his bed._ But, no matter what Jones and the Unspeakables might think, and no matter what they might have done, he was really not sure he was prepared to _get these needs out of his system_. Not right now, and certainly not like this.

* * * *

Firmly putting his emotions in a vise, Harry stood, breathing slowly. He would walk in there, and take care of… whomever. He would not… hurt him. He would offer the man a dressing gown. He would help the man Floo home, or to St. Mungo’s if necessary. If the man wanted to press charges against someone, Harry would help him file the paperwork and he would testify, too.

Even if it was Malfoy.

No, especially if it was Malfoy.

* * * *

Closing his eyes for a moment, Harry strode to his bathroom and took the dressing gown off the hook on the inside of the door. Then he knocked on the door of his own bedroom and listened. Someone moaned, and trying to ignore the pulse of excitement he felt in his cock, Harry opened the door.

The first thing Harry saw were long, naked legs, dusted with blond hair, bent at the knees and spread wide. The second thing Harry saw were the ropes, binding the man’s long and slender white feet down to Harry’s bed. The third thing Harry saw, as he walked, spellbound, to the foot of the mattress, was the large, erect cock, jutting toward the ceiling. The fourth thing he saw was the wet, lubricated arsehole. 

Harry reached for his own cock, gripped at it with a tight fist, so he wouldn’t come from looking alone. He allowed his eyes to travel up the pale, muscular torso, to jitter nervously over the pointy, rosy nipples. He saw the restraints holding Malfoy down at the shoulders, leaving his hands free to --say-- stroke his own cock, but unable to untie his own feet. Then Malfoy raised his head and caught Harry’s gaze.

Malfoy looked crazed, lost, miserable. He looked desperate. He saw Harry’s face and he wailed. Just once. Then he began to babble. “Oh, thank Merlin! I’ve been waiting so long! Please, Harry, please! Can I come in your mouth? I’m so hard, Harry, so hard!”

Harry dropped the dressing gown on the floor without noticing. His mouth opened. He stood there, unspeaking, clenching and releasing his fists. He needed to blink, but he couldn’t stop drinking in the beautiful vision tied to his bed.

“Harry?” Malfoy wailed. “I’ve waited for you. All morning, Harry. You slept so long! Please, Harry, this potion they gave me, it’s driving me mad not to be touched. Please!”

“It’s going to be alright, Malfoy,” Harry said, moving closer before he could stop himself. He pressed his palm to his erection again in a futile effort to calm his rampant cock. “I’ll, er, I can take you to hospital, and they’ll–”

“Nooo!” Malfoy wailed. “What is the matter with you? I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want me! If I don’t come soon I’ll fucking die!” Malfoy lowered his face to look Harry in the eye, and his anger stopped Harry cold. 

Harry stood at the foot of the bed, his dick still hard enough to jerk with every beat of his heart. Overwhelmed with bewilderment, lust and guilt, Harry said nothing, but Malfoy soon filled the silence.

“What is going to happen next, is you’re going to suck my cock. I’ll come in about three seconds, and then I’ll feel better for a bit. Long enough for you to take off that stupid, ugly outfit and then ram me full of cock.” His voice lost a bit of its matter-of-fact edge as Malfoy waited for Harry to move. “Merlin, Harry, how daft can you be? What are you waiting for, man? I need to come! Now!”

Harry stared, uncomprehending. This had not occurred to him as a path for this conversation. 

Malfoy threw his head back and forth on the pillow and snarled. “Are you too bone-headed to live? Did you not hear me? I said Suck. My. Cock!”

Harry pulled his brain out of the blender of his confusion just long enough to realize that Malfoy _wanted_ Harry to suck him off. Surely that would be all right, wouldn’t it? Even if it was drugs making Malfoy want it, he did (very explicitly) want it, and giving someone pleasure wasn’t selfish the way taking it was, right? He put a knee on the edge of the mattress and watched Malfoy shudder and roll his head around. One more knee, and Malfoy keened out an angered wail.

Harry waited, uncertain, but when Malfoy snapped out “Please!” Harry found his morals only went so far, and he lunged forward without them to grab Malfoy’s cock. Malfoy made a strangled sound, but Harry was too far gone to register anything but that the other man wasn’t protesting. He knelt between Malfoy’s legs, licked the precome from the head and slit, and then dove down, taking Malfoy in as far as he could. Since Harry wasn’t good at deep-throating, this turned out to be about two thirds of the way. 

While Malfoy put both hands into Harry’s hair and tugged, Harry wrapped his hand around the base of Malfoy's erection and proceeded to drool all over him. Using that as lubrication, he coordinated his hand and mouth together, filling his mouth with cock, and soon after, with come. Malfoy grunted and whined as he came, then relaxed, his bound feet holding his legs somewhat upright even as he relaxed and let them splay.

“Finally,” Malfoy sighed, sounding much calmer. “Now I must insist that you fuck me. I see that guilt in your eyes, Potter, and that is a load of bullshit. Take off those unsightly track bottoms and fuck me until I get hard again.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry said, hearing the guilt dripping from his voice. Now that Malfoy had come, the situation felt calmer, and Harry was starting to feel like a terrible person. A terrible person with an erection that could probably drill through stone.

“What is there to understand,” Malfoy stated crossly. He crossed his arms over his chest and… sulked? “I’m naked. I’m prepared. I’m randy as the fucking Eiffel Tower. You’re here for me, and you’re hard.” 

Harry looked at Malfoy helplessly. 

“I require _fucking_ , Potter.” He pointed at Harry with one long, white finger. “Are you not gay? Are you not a top?” 

“I, er,” Harry squirmed in his track bottoms. He was very much a top. He hadn’t fucked a lot of men, but he always topped when anal was on the menu, and had been told he was pretty damn good at it, too. Not that he didn’t like to suck cock, too. Or even instead. After all, he had occasionally been known to come while giving head, though that always took longer than the five or so seconds the terribly over-stimulated Malfoy had needed before he had exploded into Harry’s throat.

“You’ve been drugged, Malfoy, you don’t know what you’re saying.” Harry paused. Malfoy seemed remarkably coherent and forceful for a man too drugged to consent. Still… “I should untie you, get you to hospital–”

“Is that what you think?” Malfoy looked disgusted. He threw his arms wide across Harry’s large bed. Harry watched his hands hit the bed and bounce. “You think my boss _forced_ me into this? You think I had to be drugged to agree? You think fucking me is… is _rape_?”

Miserable at the use of that cruel, explicit word, and once again horrified at having so much as touched Malfoy, Harry nodded and tried to untie Malfoy’s foot.

“Stop that!” Malfoy barked. Harry stopped, pulling his hands back and grabbing at his own track bottoms so as to have something to hold onto that wasn’t the other man’s muscular legs, or gorgeous little arse.

“You listen to me, you idiot, and you listen well.” Malfoy glared, fury in his lowered eyebrows, his strong jawline. He pointed at Harry again. “This isn’t rape. I haven’t been forced into anything. I am here of my own free will. The drugs they offered me merely enhanced my sense of touch and helped me wait for you to wake up. They also, er… relaxed me a bit. Down there.” Letting his hand drop to the duvet, he turned away from Harry’s eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “I am tied to your bed because I want to be here, Potter.” He looked into Harry’s eyes, and his voice softened slightly as he repeated himself. “I want to be here. I want to have sex with you.”

Harry stared at Malfoy for a long pause. His cock was so hard it was starting to hurt. Not to mention, Malfoy seemed so sincere. Yet… “I’m so confused,” Harry admitted. “The letter… made it sound… I thought you…”

“I know you don’t understand all the details, Potter, but can we discuss this after a few more orgasms? I really need some dick, here.”

At the word, Harry involuntarily glanced down at Malfoy’s. Incredibly, untouched, and while yelling at Harry, he’d gotten mostly hard all over again. After coming in Harry’s mouth not five minutes before. As though compelled, Harry swept his tongue around his teeth. There. A tiny taste of it: Draco’s come. Harry closed his eyes and breathed in harshly.

“How do I know you have the resources to truly and fully consent?” Harry said, his conviction weakening. He felt like he was quoting Hermione, but he was instead paraphrasing an Auror textscroll he had been forced to nearly memorize for a test a couple of years before.

Draco’s eyebrows rose. “Will the words ‘I truly and fully consent’ satisfy you?” 

Harry stared at him: half-convinced, still uncertain. 

“If that’s not enough, _Harry_ ,” he purred Harry’s name and Harry pushed his fist against his erection reflexively, “Then I guess you're just going to have to trust me. Because if you don’t fuck me soon, _Harry_ , I am going to make your life a living hell of humiliation and regret.”

“Well _that’s_ a turn-on,” Harry snapped, latching on to the first thing that Draco had said so far that gave Harry any pause. 

“Good,” Draco dead-panned. “Then you'll take those atrocious clothes off and fuck me now, right?”

“I,” Harry said, feeling his worries dissipate as Draco lucidly asserted his desires once again, “you swear you’re really able to consent?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, you fool, though I’m starting to wonder why I’m bothering.”

“All right, then,” Harry said, finally convinced. “Good.” 

Draco’s eyes went wide, and he smiled.

Harry threw his old tshirt to the floor, then stood and shoved his track bottoms and old boxers down in one swift motion. He saw that Draco was staring at his cock without blinking. Then Draco licked his lips. The action looked utterly unconscious.

Further heartened, Harry climbed onto the bed and lay down on top of him. “I like kissing,” he said, and then he bit Draco’s neck almost gently. 

“I… oh… that’s not really….” Draco’s voice had gone soft and low, and it curled into Harry’s mind like a gentle summer breeze.

“What?” Harry asked him, amused. He nipped at Draco’s neck again, then licked the little mark he’d made. Draco had the barest scratch of invisible stubble, and Harry wondered how often he had to shave.

“Kissing…” Draco said, rocking his hips against Harry’s.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Harry countered, and -- taking Draco’s temple in one hand, he touched his open lips to the other man’s and pressed.

Draco opened to Harry like a flower in the sun. He was warm, eager, even pliant underneath Harry’s body. Harry slipped one hand under Draco’s shoulder and tried to pull the other man onto his side, but --tied to the bed as he was-- it had no effect. “Can we untie you yet?” Harry asked, kissing Draco gently.

He had to pull away slightly to look at Draco’s face, as Draco didn’t answer him right away. Instead, he blushed.

“Merlin, that’s adorable,” Harry couldn’t help but admit. “But why are you blushing?”

“Er,” Draco said, his head turned to the side, looking up toward the tall headboard, “can we leave the ropes where they are for a while?”

“Oh, yeah?” Harry asked, surprised and a little intrigued.

“Er, yeah,” Draco said. And finally turned to look Harry in the eye.

“Make you a deal,” Harry offered. “This time, we’ll do it tied down. Next time, we’ll do it… unrestrained.”

“Next time?” Draco said, eyes wide, full of something guarded and delicate.

“If you’ll have me,” Harry said, rolling his hips against Draco’s again. “I don’t know about you, but for me, it’s going to take a lot more than one fuck to ‘get you out of my system.’ It might take a few…” he reached down, and used his fingers to position his cockhead at Draco’s hole. “It might take a few fucks. Or, I don’t know… a few weeks? And I’m _absolutely_ not going to ‘get you out of my system’ by only having you like this: tied down, on your back.”

“No?” Draco asked, soft and breathy, trying to move down and surround Harry’s cockhead with his entrance.

“Hell no,” Harry agreed, as he rubbed his cockhead around and around in a tight circle. “I want to watch you ride me,” he said slowly, thinking of his favourite ways to fuck, not wanting to miss a single one. “I want to have you in a chair, too.”

“Bent over a chair?” Draco asked, squirming now.

“Oh, definitely, that too. But I meant sitting in a chair, with you on my lap. Both ways, you facing me, and again, with you facing away from me. Maybe looking,” he paused, and tucked his tip into Draco’s ready hole, then took it out. Then he eased it back in again. “...looking into a mirror.”

“That sounds,” Draco panted, “like a hell of a lot of fucking.” He shoved himself downward, grabbing a tiny bit more of Harry’s cock into his body.

“Mm, doesn’t it though?” Harry agreed. “I think that means I should get on with it, yes?” He raised himself up carefully onto his elbows, and eased his cock into Draco a few more millimetres. When this went well, he paused just long enough to catch Draco’s eye and get an eager nod. Then he shoved the entire rest of his length into Draco’s arse in one swift, wet slide.

Draco moaned his appreciation, and wrapped his arms around Harry: one around his shoulders, one around his lower back. 

“What do you like?” Harry asked, fucking slowly, unwilling to pull his torso away from Draco’s torso, or take his mouth from Draco’s neck, jawline, mouth.

Draco panted and gripped Harry harder. “Everything,” he said with some difficulty.

Harry fucked into him a few more times, then held himself still above Draco and waited until Draco opened his eyes and looked at him. Draco frowned, and Harry smiled. “I want to know,” Harry said, pulling his cock out slowly, “what you _like_.” He slid his dick back into Draco, then waited there.

“I like…” Draco panted, “getting properly fucked. _Not teased_.” He lowered his eyebrows at Harry and tightened his muscles around Harry’s cock.

“I thought everybody liked to get teased,” Harry said, laughing just a little. He pulled his cock out again, very slowly. 

Draco rolled his eyes and groaned. “Yes,” he admitted. “I like getting teased. Sometimes. But right now, I want a proper, hard, slamming fuck. Are you up for it, Potter? Or should I have you untie me so I can go out on the street and solicit a more able candidate?”

“Goodness,” Harry said, smiling broadly. “I couldn’t have…” he pushed back into Draco fast and hard. “That!”

Harry pulled out, almost to the tip, then slammed back in, his balls slapping against Draco’s arse. Then he did it again. And again. 

Again. 

He wanted to close his eyes, but he forced them to stay open, watching Draco’s face as it lost the look of annoyance, lost determination, even lost focus. Draco’s eyes fluttered nearly shut. His mouth opened, softened. He huffed out a breath, he made a high-pitched squeak, then he moaned out loud. Harry just kept fucking. Draco felt so good, wrapped tight and wet and hot around his cock. He couldn’t understand why his balls were still low and loose. Normally, after so much tease and touch, he’d be on the verge of coming. Not this morning. Today he was apparently up for giving Draco Malfoy the seeing-to both of them had obviously always wanted. 

Draco wailed, a lost, needy sound.

Harry fucked him.

Grinning at the way Draco’s knees were tight around his sides, the way Draco still held onto Harry with both arms, Harry fucked him.

Smiling at the sounds Draco couldn’t stop making, the halting little cries, the deep grunts of pleasure, the increasingly loud breaths, Harry fucked him.

“Proper!” Harry said, grinning. “Hard!” Harry continued. “Slamming!” Harry growled.

“Fuck!” Draco wailed into Harry’s ear.

Grinning, smug, Harry fucked him.

Draco tossed his head back and forth on the pillow, his hair in his eyes. “Wanna come,” he moaned, soft and desperate.

“I want to watch,” Harry agreed. He changed his position, reaching in between to caress Draco’s leaking, pulsing erection. He watched as come spurted, white and hot, from the tip of Draco’s cock. He jerked hard at the foreskin, squeezing the crown, smearing Draco’s release with his grip.

Draco arched his neck and back as far as he could and groaned, deep and hard.

“Stop,” he finally whispered. “Let go. Too much.”

Harry obeyed immediately, slowing his thrusts into Draco’s arse but not pulling out.

“Come inside... me?” Draco started the sentence as a demand, but ended it as a question, as though coming again had robbed him of confidence.

That wouldn’t do at all. “Nowhere else,” Harry insisted, and began again to fuck Draco with long, strong strokes, focussing now on his own need. Soon his balls retracted and he tucked his forehead into Draco’s warm, pliant neck. “Your arse,” he panted. “Fucking fantastic.” 

“Mm,” Draco said. He sounded just the tiniest bit self-satisfied, Harry decided. 

“Fill it,” Harry said, inarticulate and uncaring, and began to come. His cock seemed to be on the same slow-moving time-table as his balls. His orgasm went on and on, the pleasure spiralling up his spine all the way into his brain. Eventually his vision went grey and he collapsed onto Draco’s body, completely spent.

Some moments later, Harry had untied Draco and pulled the other man into his arms, petting his shoulder and back. Draco rolled onto Harry and Harry stroked down, finding Draco’s tight, pert arse. He cupped one cheek, then slid a finger between, finding Draco’s tender hole. Draco squirmed slightly closer as Harry slid that fingertip in and out, feeling his own come lubricating the way.

With his tongue, Harry gently traced the path of a drop of sweat that had marked a path down the side of Draco’s temple and jaw.

“I’m really not sure how anyone could think just one fuck, or even one day of fucking, would ever ‘get you out of my system,’ Draco.” 

“No?” Draco asked. Harry couldn’t quite hear what emotion was coloring the other man’s tone, but he didn’t want to pull his face away from Draco’s shoulder in order to look him in the eye. He took a deep sniff of the scent of a satisfied, sweaty Draco, and rubbed his cheek against Draco’s jaw, feeling the barely-there stubble.

“No,” Harry said in his firmest tone. “So, I say we’d better work on a few more fucks before lunch.”

Draco curled a leg around Harry’s leg and rocked his hips against Harry.

“I’d say… most assuredly. Yes,” Draco agreed. He squirmed in Harry’s arms, but Harry couldn’t tell if this was from embarrassment, or to get Harry to finger fuck him harder. Experimentally, Harry finger fucked him a little harder, and Draco rocked into it and sighed.

“Then let’s get cracking, Potter!” 

_Fin_


End file.
